


Ways of Man

by whiskyandoldspice (Itsirtou)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Born under a bad sign, M/M, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possession, Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-18
Updated: 2012-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-16 13:13:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/539802
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Itsirtou/pseuds/whiskyandoldspice
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set during Born Under a Bad Sign.  Meg goes poking around in Sam's brain while Dean has her trapped.  She loves what she finds.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>You delicious little slut, Sammy, Meg says inside his head. You want him, don’t you? You want big brother. </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	Ways of Man

Sam comes awake when a slap rocks his head back. Feels his eyes open, tongue dart out to taste the blood beading on his upper lip. Dean’s standing in front of him. His eyes are carefully blank, but Sam sees his jaw clench, just once. Feels Meg grinning inside his head and knows she saw it too.

 _Oh, Sammy._ Her voice is an insidious thing in his head, filling up the crevices and dark places where only his own thoughts used to be. When she laughs at him it hurts, like sandpaper rubbing against sensitive skin. _Aren’t you two just fucking precious? Big brother’s barely holding it together. Look at him, he gave you a little lovetap on the face and he’s about to fucking cry. Barely tied your hands down. Think he’s afraid of hurting his precious little brother?_

 _Not like you can get out of this trap, bitch,_ Sam snarls, and she laughs again.

 _Who says I want to get out?_ And then, “Careful, Dean,” he hears himself say, and Meg twists his lips into a smile, “wouldn’t want to bruise this fine packaging.” 

There’s innuendo in her voice, thick and syrupy like honey, and Dean stares at her for a moment before saying, “Bobby, get out of here. Go make sure no one else is coming.” Bobby starts to protest, but when Dean turns to look at him, whatever’s in Dean’s eyes stops him. He leaves, and it’s just Sam and Dean.

 _And me, sweetie pie,_ Meg reminds him. _Oh, Dean-o’s grown up nice, hasn’t he._ And god, she’s digging fingers into his brain, rooting around and it hurts, it hurts so bad, hurts worse because he doesn’t have a mouth anymore to cry out, to protest, to beg her to stop.

She chuckles, and uses Sam’s voice to do it. Dean’s eyes narrow. He’s speaking to them, to her, but Meg’s not paying attention and the pain in his head is so crippling that Sam can’t make himself focus on Dean’s words. _You little slut, Sammy,_ she says, and her pleasure is even worse than her laughter; it rubs sinuously against his nerves, and she twists his hands in the loose bonds, delighting in the feel of the rope abrading delicate flesh. _You want him, don’t you? You want big brother. You want big brother’s cock. Oh, look at this, look at this one, Sammy._ He feels her picking out memories, fantasies, looking at them with wicked eyes and turning them shameful.

 _No,_ he says inside his own head, but instead hears his voice moan, “Dean.” Dean’s eyes widen and he stops talking. Meg’s managed to twist one hand almost all the way out of the ropes, but Dean’s not paying attention to that anymore. “Dean.”

 _You’ve jerked off in the car,_ Meg says, and she sounds so fucking delighted. _Sat in the driver’s seat because it smelled like him, and touched your cock. Fingered your asshole wide open and imagined it was your brother’s fingers stretching you, and you were a little rough because you think that’s how Dean would be._

Her hand’s out of the ropes. She presses her palm against Sam’s aching cock and Dean’s face is pale, his hand clenching and unclenching at his sides. “Sammy,” he says, and he sounds so unguarded that Sam wants to scream at him. _She’s making me, be careful, don’t step inside the trap, please Dean_ —but all that comes out is a long, low groan as Meg rolls his hips up. “Dean, oh fuck.” She pushes his hand down his jeans, wraps his fingers around his aching cock. “Dean.”

_When Dean picks up women at bars, you wonder, don’t you. How he is with them, how he is when he fucks someone. What his face looks like. And you think maybe one day he’ll come home with his hands and his face smelling like cunt and you’ll be brave enough to push him against the door and lick it off his lips, off his fingers, until he’s begging to fuck you because none of those bitches could do it for him._

She’s pushed his jeans off his hips, and all the while his mouth is spilling filth: how hard his cock is, God, it’s for Dean, it’s always been for Dean, please come touch him he’s fucking gagging for it, he’ll take it all, anything Dean wants to give him, take Dean’s cock in his mouth, in his ass, anything. Dean’s eyes are hooded and dark.

“Shut up,” Dean says, quietly, when she pauses to take a breath. “Shut the fuck up. Let him go. Stop.”

She laughs, and drags his palm over the tip of his dick, enjoying it when Dean’s lips tighten with anger. When he flings holy water on Sam, it doesn’t hurt him, but Meg moans in pain with his voice. It does hurt, though, when she grabs his cock hard, glares at Dean.

“I’ll rip it off,” she hisses at him. “Rip off baby brother’s little dick.” Then she laughs, wildly, and Sam cringes inside his own head and she digs around. “Take one step closer and I will.”

Dean tries the exorcism. Meg pulls his lips up into a sick rictus of a smile, presses her fingers beneath Sam’s balls. “Won’t work, big brother,” she whispers in his voice, fingers rubbing over his hole as she whispers to him in his head. _You want him to fuck you, don’t you._

 _No,_ he tries, but it’s pointless, she can see all of the disgusting things he’s ever thought about Dean, can see all the things he wants, all the sick ways he wants his own brother.

 _Oh yeah, you do, little Sam. You want him to put you on your back and shove his big cock in you, hard, too hard, you want it to hurt a little. You want your brother to fuck you, and you want him to call you Sammy while he does it, call you baby boy, tell you that you’re being so good for him._ She pushes two fingers inside his own body so fast it stings and groans Dean’s name, and Dean makes an abortive little motion forward before he seems to remember Meg’s threat and stops, clenching his teeth together. “Stop, you son of a bitch, or I’m going to fucking kill you. Let him go.”

“Oh, Dean,” she gasps. “Sammy doesn’t want me to let him go. Do you have any idea how much he’s enjoying this? How much he loves your eyes on him while he fucks himself?” Sam can feel her fingers inside him, fluttering, and jolts of sick pleasure shoot up his spine as she twists his hand around his cock. _No, Dean,_ he wants to say, straining so hard to push past Meg’s influence so that he can scream. 

Dean’s hands are fisted tightly. “I’m going to kill you,” he repeats, but it sounds helpless, and Meg knows it. 

_Gonna come, Sammy,_ she says. _Gonna come for your big brother, come while he’s watching you stuff yourself full of your own fingers._ And then she shoves a third finger in and he is, he’s coming so fucking hard, and she lets go of him for just a second, long enough for everything to go bright and vivid and real, long enough for him to cry out his own brother’s name as he comes. 

__Then she’s taking back over and he’s sinking down deep again; the world’s washing out dull, grey. He hears the crack of the ceiling and feels his brother’s hot blood on his knuckles but it doesn’t seem to mean much, anymore. Doesn’t mean much at all._ _


End file.
